


The lone axe girl from Seven.

by Wordspeaklouder



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 07:31:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordspeaklouder/pseuds/Wordspeaklouder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Nothing.” She snarls at the man who was too brightly decorated for his own good. “You pigs know nothing about me, and you never will.” The famous Johanna Mason temper never disappointed anyone. </p>
<p>“Now, I suggest you stop bugging me and disappear before I make an axe appear in your eye. You people are disgusting and one day, I will get my own back. So stop looking for me, stop asking, and don't think that you'll ever know me.” She says in a dark, bitter, yet haunted voice. “Nobody knows me... and I'll never reveal myself to the Capitol because they don't own me.” Her eyes glistened with a dark intensity. “I'm Johanna f*cking Mason. Not a puppet of entertainment. Get that into your thick head.” And she did what she always did, turned her back and walked away without looking back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The lone axe girl from Seven.

   **A note from Johanna:**  


  
_So, here you are. Here I am. Here is my story. I'm not a storyteller, that's more of Odair's scene, however I do have a story.. of sorts. Now, I don't do tragic, or damsel in distress, so please **do not**  feel sorry for me. Pity is the weak mans drug. Anyway, I guess the rest is left to the words on this page. Enjoy my story, of sorts, and remember this whilst you read:  “Strength is not measured in how much we can withstand, but how many times we pick ourselves up and give a massive fuck you to your fears._ _”_   


_(P.S - Not my quote, a very wise women told me those words... minus the use of "fuck", of course.)_

  
_  
_The grove in district Seven was always most peaceful at night; Light moon casting Shadows amoung the tree's, the shadow's dancing with the twinkle of the stars. Johanna Mason, stands leaning casually back against one of the oak tree's, her foot propped against it, arms hanging lazily at her side. The stars reflected in her wide-set brown eyes as she admired the boy before her.

He wasn't just any boy. He was  _hers,_ and that was something she loved about her time with him. That the words and actions passed between the hidden cove of the tree's would be a secret, kept between them. 

He was exquisite, especially in the moonlight. Dark chocolate brown hair with green eyes that seemed to take on the colours of the leaves. He was tall, lean and muscular, and her age, although he looked years older. 

“Travis,” she purred, his name rolling off her tongue. “I'm awfully cold..” She pouts, putting on the most innocent sounding voice she can, unable to stop that smirk that curls at her lip. “Come and warm me up?” She suggests, her words heavy with a hidden seductive meaning. 

Evidently, Travis was used to this. His green eyes twinkled in the darkness and narrowed playfully, the game of seduction they both played so well. “If you're really _that_ cold, maybe we should think of something physical to warm you up,” his voice, warm and smooth like silp wrapping around her and causing her to shiver. No-one else had ever affected her like this, and she was so certain that no-one else would. 

Despite her hate of the noise, she giggled, immediately covering her lips and almost cringing at herself. With a warm chuckle, Travis got up from the log like bench where he was sitting and sauntered over to her, leaning his arm against the trunk of the tree beside her head, his face hovering inches from hers. His other arm snakes round her waist, creating a barrier that she never wanted to get out of. 

His heavy breaths colided with hers, creating a dancing fog between them. Their eyes never left each other's, a burning desire dialating their pupils. She could feel the electricity between them. It prickled her skin from the tips of her fingers to her core. It set her alight; Egniting a hunger inside her that she never knew existed until she met him. 

“Travis...,” his name got caught in her breath, a whisper that ached for him to move closer, yet didn't want to severe the wire of electricity encircling them both. Her lips are parted as if to say something seductive, or sarcastic, or witty, like she usually does, yet no words pass her lips. They are dry and aching for his, she swipes her tongue across her lips and she swore that his eyes darkened. 

She couldn't stand it anymore, with the last of her resolve melting into a fuel of desire that pumped through her veins, she knotted his shirt into her hands and tugged him closer towards her, leaning her face up to meet his. 

As soon as her hand knotted in his shirt Travis had understood, he tightened his arm around her waist, pulling her body against his and kissing her deeply, their tongues desperate for the taste of the other, kissing as if it was the last kiss that they would ever share. It was always like that, and Johanna loved it. 

Then things heatened up again, Travis pushing her back against the tree, his hand unwrapping from her waist to slide along her bare skin and up her shirt, his cold hands somehow leaving a trail of warmth in their path, that made her kiss more desperately, if that were possible. He was the drug that she craved, always wanting more and never being able to deny herself that pleasure, I mean, why should she?

In a matter of heated moments his jacket was strewn across the floor, their bodies pressed together, fitting together as easily as the pieces of a puzzle. Their skins created a heat that warmed each other to the core. She ran her hands along his skin, her fingertips taking in every inch of him, memorising the small scars along his shoulders from lumber injuries. Tracing the crevices of his muscles and feeling the soft trail of hair running down to his pantline. 

A breath that sounded like a groan came from Travis, resonating into their kiss, causing her to let out a shaky breath at his pleasure. She always got a warm satisfaction when she pleased him. She loved to do it and was always eager for more. Just as her hands reached to tug the restricting material of his shirt over his head, a voice echoed through the supposedly empty grove, causing her to growl in frustration.

“PEPP-AH!” A thick accented voice yelled. “YOU DARN DOG, WHERE ARE YA?” 

A soft chuckle against her lips from Travis, causing her to scowl at him, whispering harshly. “ _So,_ not funny Travis.” He grinned his grin that always made her melt from the inside out, that charming, playful grin. She gently pinched the skin above his pantline, causing a strangled, effeminate yelp to escape his lips, a soft groan audible in his voice. With a smirk of triumph she left him picking up his jacket, heading out of the woods, knowing he'd follow.

“Not so fast, Mason.” Warm arms wrapped around her waist, tugging her backwards against a firm body, her feet being lifted from the air, spinning around and around and around and arou- “Travis!” She almost squeals, unable to help but laugh at his playful antics. “Put me do-” She was instantly silence by his lips. This time they were not desperate but they were soft and loving and gentle and told her that he really meant it.

When they parted, their noses touched, their breaths intermingling as they gazed into each other's eyes, wondering what the other was saying. 

They'd often have moments like this, where the three little unspoken words would hang in the air between them. They would never say it, though. Even after a year of dating, they would never say those words that meant so much. 

Travis' lips opened as if to form a word, yet the moment was instantly lost within the drunken voice of a dark haired man with a beard to match, shining a bright light on their moment, the spark between them seemingly being vapourised.

She scrunched up her eyes, turning away. “Blight! You idiot, turn of the torch you're going to cause me permenant damage!” A scoff came from the drunk man as he directed his torch onto some poor forest creature as a high squeak could be heard followed by the ruslting of foliage. “Gah, yah shouldn't be out this late, lass. There many dangers in this grove late at night, and by lord, yah father must be worried out of his mind!” With a roll of her eyes, Johanna dismissed the concerns of their long-time neighbour, who was always just a little drunk. “Don't yah roll your eyes at me, young Mason! I be the one with permenant damage watchin' you two's rip eachother apart like ferral dogs attacking meat!” He made some noise of disgust in the back of his throat that made Johanna cringe.

Travis simply laughs, his warm laugh that could charm the heart of a dead man. “Blight, we were just saying our goodbye's, actually, after we heard you yelling down the grove like there's no tomorrow.” A frown crosses Blight's face, whethered beyond his years. “Ah, yah, I lost me pup Pepp-ah. She was runnin' around chasing a squirrel and then-” Johanna sighs. “Blight, look at your hand.” Evidently confused, he glances to the hand with the torch. Johanna sighs. “The other hand, dumbass.” He looks to his other hand, bare and empty, besides a thin scar running across it. “Do you have a dog lead with you?” “Ah, no, but I-” Her jaw tightens.“Did my father send you out here to look for me?” Her voice sharpens warningly. “ **Again.** ” The poor man, obviously flustered, scratches his beard. 

Reluctantly, he sighs, holding up his bare hand in defense. “Alright lass, yah got me. Yah father's worried about yah, you need to get home _now._ ” She struggles to keep her temper in check, it was always like this. Her father getting excessively worried about her being out after dark, and he'd always send dopey Blight to come fetch her. “I don't know why my father keeps sending _you_ to get me. You may be a victor, Blight, but you aren't family, or even a friend, so don't think you can tell me what to do.”

And bam. Johanna had let her tongue run wild, per usual. The crinkled look of disbelief and even slight hurt, concelead beneath his eyes as dark as the night sky. He did not tell her off. Did not yell or curse. He simply cleared his throat and said “Get yahself home, Jo. It's the safest place to be.” His tone tired, and even a little sad. She felt a pluck of guilt strum at her heart, but she couldn't go with those feelings. She never could. She pushed all negative feelings away ever since her mother's death. She promised herself that she would never cry again, and so her fear, her worry, her sadness, all turned into angst, anger and a bitter attitude.

She watches Blight as he turns, stumbling through the grove with his torch, mumbling inchoherent things beneath his beer fueled breath.

She is broken from her reverie of near guilt with Travis stroking back her choppy, short brown hair. “Let's head back, Jo. Maybe he's right..”

And then she snapped. “He's just an old has been! He isn't _right_ , he knows nothing about me. At all. Why are you taking his side all of a sudden?” She says the words bitterly, yet the harshness isn't genuine. Not towards Travis. Yet, she couldn't stop. “ **You** can head back, Travis. Alone. I'm staying out here.” 

He is evidently hurt, yet a somewhat tired look crosses his face, they had been through this routine a thousand times over. It usually resulted in  _amazing_ make up sex, but sometimes she wondered if it was worth the look of hurt that crinkled his soft, charming features. “...Fine. Do what you like.” With a step back, he turned and marched out of the grove not even looking back.

That hurt. It hurt a lot. The fact that he just let her stay out here alone, although she would have refused and persisted in being stubborn whatever way it went. It was just the fact that he walked away. With a grunt of anger towards herself, she storms towards the work stations and plucks an axe, the sharp end wedged into wood, ready for the next day. She grips the handle firmly, yanking it from the wood with ease.

An axe was an extention of her own arm. She had been helping out around this grove since she could walk. It posed no threat, anymore. She could handle the axes and the tree's falling, it was somewhat weirdly peaceful. Familiar.

With the comforting weight of the axe in her hand she stands in line with the old oak tree she had done some seriously  _hot_ making out under not just twenty minutes ago. With a heavy mind and a hard hand, she threw the axe just right, the hilt making a loud  **thwack** as it embeds itself at least ten feet up in the bark. Then she does what she's used to doing. She turns her back and walks away. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Forty-five minutes later she arrived at the door of her house. It was nothing special. A small house, almost a shack. It had a mahogany coloured door with a brass handle, almost identical to every over house along the Sub. The Sub was the nickname they gave to the village's that was designated to a certain grove. There were hundreds of these all over District Seven. Nothing special...  _but still home._  


She grasped the handle, taking a breath before pushing the door open. The living room was a mess. As always. Her little brothers had run havock spreading pine cones everywhere, a mine field of spikey cones that could hurt more than an axe to the shoulder. They had a fireplace built into the wall with a worn out red couch, with a matching arm chair besotted beside it. There was a table with five chairs, one of them never occupied. 

On top of the fireplace sat photo's. One of them where a young couple stood in the beginning of the grove, smiling, evidently madly in love. Her father, Bernard, looked younger. He had hair the same colour as Johanna's, yet he had bright blueeyes that always made her mother swoon. They were embracing in the picture, her mother's head resting in the crook of her father's neck, him wearing an undeniable smile upon his lips. 

Her mother was beautiful. She had long, lucious, dark hair that tumbled down her back in curls. She had these dazzling dark brown eyes that you could get lost in so easily. Her face was soft, her expression nothing ever but caring.

The next photo was the only family photo they had. Her mother was cradling her baby brother Luka, in her arms, a soft tuft of dark hair spouting upon his head. Her other brother, Aiden, on her back, his small toddler hands getting themselves stuck into her hair, a childish grin of glee and mischief upon his face. She was looking up at her brother, a smile she didn't want to be there upon her face as her hair was molested by a toddler. Her father had his arm around their mother, gazing dreamily at his wife, who looked dreamily to their son. An average, happy, family.

Not these days. When the bite of the cold left her skin, she hung up her winter coat and shut the door, heading for the sofa in front of the fireplace. However, the armchair was already occupied. Her father sat there, his head lolled back, eyes closed, asleep. He had obviously been waiting up for her for some time.  _Ping._ The pluck of guilt strumming away at her wall of self defence.

The family were the only people that she let in. Even yet, only they got let in occasionally. 

With a soft sigh, she picks up the worn out blanket she'd traded for a basket full of ripe apples, later to go back and steal the basket of apples, leaving them warm and smiling, licking apple juice from their fingers for weeks. It was great. She gently places the blanket over her father, kissing his cheek. “I'm sorry, father. I wish I were more like mom...” Before the lump in her throat chocked her, she headed quietly up the stairs.

She shared a room with her two brothers. The only other room used to be her parents, now only occupied by her father. There were two beds. One of them which thirteen year old Aiden slept in, the other that held enough room for her and Luka. 

Luka was about eight years old, with dark brown hair and bright blue eyes that made people  _awhhh_ whenever they saw him. He also had this annoying baby face which meant whenever he went to the town or the market he'd often get a free gift here or a goody there. Lucky bastard.

Aiden, however had the same dark hair, yet with dark eyes that could almost be black. Almost. He was a brooding teenager with an attitude almost as sour as Johanna's. They pissed eachother off  _a lot_ , yet they loved each other in their own way. They had too.

Aiden was layed back in bed, staring thoughtfully up at the ceiling, his fingers slowly unthreading his cover. Luka lay snoring, his face buried into his pillow, the blanket draped over his awkwardly shaped little body.

She can't help but smile, walking over to the bed and pulling the covers over Luka, sliding him next to him and hugging him to her the way she always does, kissing the back of his head. 

She glances over to Aiden who still lays alert and awake. Eventually, she decides to speak. “What's up? You look like you either have seriously bad trapped gas or the ceiling has pissed you off recently.” Usually his budding mind with create some witty, teenage response that would coax a reluctant laugh out of Johanna... but not tonight. That worried her, genuinely. “...What's wrong, Aide?” She asks. 

For a long length as time it seems as if he wasn't going to answer. Her eyelids became heavy and her head hit the pillow. Just as she felt the hands of sleep cup her, a soft, small voice entered her sleep filled mind.  “...I took tessarae, Jo. Tomorrow's the reaping.” She frowns, instantly waking up. “Why'd you do that? Dad told you  ** _never_** to take tessarae, none of us ever have.” Another silence. “He's stuggling. I can see it, he needed it, so badly.. I.. I had to help him out. **We** need it, Jo. We're barely surviving on what we have... I just.. I don't mind, I was eager to help but.. but what if it's me?” His usually witty, confident voice sounded as if he were a four year old scared by a nightmare again. She ached to hug him and stroke his hair, to tell him that it was okay... but it wasn't. She knew that well. 

“Then... well, then that leaves no choice.” His soft features frown and he glances over at her, his dark eyes glinting in the darkness. “To do what, Jo?” She closes her eyes, not wanting to see his hurt, his fear anymore. “I'll volunteer. I'll win. And I'll hunt down every last gamemaker and kill them all.” She says the words with a heated, bitter hatred. One that she has always held close since her mother's death. They were all terrified, since their mothers death. “Slowly.” She adds for good measure. “Now go to sleep, brainless, otherwise the wood creatures will eat your toes.” She was rewarded with a scoff and a small smile. “G'night, Jo.”

Yet, as Johanna slept that night, she had a heavy feeling resting upon her gut. A dreaded feeling that the odds of the 71st Hunger Games weren't going to be in her favour. 


End file.
